Casualties
by crazybeagle
Summary: Ever wonder why Angel seems to have an endless supply of trench coats and black shirts? Cordy is determined to find out.


**Casualties**

**This is my first-ever Buffyverse story, in which Angel answers some awkward questions for Cordelia regarding his wardrobe. You may read it as an Angel/Cordy if you wish, though that isn't exactly the intent. Set in Season 2, post-Darla. **

**Dedicated to TheSquintiestSquint, because she requested a funny story, and recommended that I start watching **_**Angel**_** in the first place. I know this isn't the fandom for which you requested said story, Squint, but I hope you enjoy it anyhow!**

"Angel."

Angel sighed and looked up from the paperwork he was supposed to be doing. It was more menial work than he was accustomed to and the type of thing he hated, but it had only been a few short weeks since the whole Darla thing had blown over. And so, Wesley and the others were (obnoxiously) determined to make use of the fact that Angel had a lot to make up for.

It was Cordelia. She was looking at him curiously.

"Yeah?" he responded cautiously. Cordy had only just started talking to him again, and he had his suspicions that it was only because of those new clothes he'd given her.

Her brow furrowed, and she leaned across the front desk where he sat, apparently staring at his shoulder.

"Uh…do you need something, Cordelia?"

"What's _that_?" she asked abruptly, jabbing a finger at a spot near his front pocket. He grimaced as a sharp pain lanced through his shoulder at her touch, the result of a recent face-off with a Malrok demon.

"What's _what_?" he growled, his eyes watering a bit.

"There's a hole. In your shirt. Right there."

He looked down. Sure enough, there was a tiny, circular hole in the dark material. "That's from two days ago, remember?" he said.

She scrunched her penciled eyebrows together, trying to remember. "Two days ago… Oh yeah! You got impaled by that big ugly narwhal-looking thing!"

"Yeah, somthin' like that," he muttered, looking back down at the papers on the desk.

"And you _kept_ that shirt?" She looked incredulous.

"Um…yeah," he began awkwardly. "I…well, ever since I…"

"Ditched us?" Cordelia supplied with a little frown.

"Yeah, that. Ever since then, funds have been a little bit tight. And Wesley sort of cut my salary, so I can't really afford to…well…buy new clothes."

"But then…how did you buy all that stuff for me?"

"Um…"

"Was that your own money?"

He cleared his throat. "The…um…last of it, yeah." He'd also tapped into the agency's store of bribe money, but she didn't need to know that. And neither did Wesley, and as long as Angel was in charge of the bulk of the paperwork, he intended it to stay that way.

She smiled. A genuine smile, directed at _him_, for the first time in ages. "You're sweet," she said.

Angel felt a grin tugging at the corners of his own lips- Cordelia's smiles were always infectious.

But then her eyebrows snapped back together."But seriously, though. You don't have _anything_ to wear?"

"Well, I do. It's just…some of it's a little beat up."

"Uh-uh," she muttered dubiously, glaring at the offending hole in the shirt. "Absolutely _not_. 90's grunge is _out_, and I refuse to be seen with you like that. I don't care how you get them, but for the love of God, Angel, get some damn clothes!"

He resisted the urge to laugh at her little outburst. "Okay, Cordy, I'll, uh, do that. I'll talk to Wesley."

"Hey, in the meantime, why don't you borrow some clothes from…uh..." She bit her lip, thinking. "Hmm…who do we know that's as huge as you?"

"Gunn?" he offered.

"Yeah!" she began, then her eyes widened. "Wait. Gunn? Oh hell, no. Ecko Red and do-rags aren't your thing, trust me." She shuddered. "Ugh. You in Gunn's clothes. That was a mental image I could've done without. God."

He rolled his eyes. "Okay, no do-rags."

"Yeah. Hrm...well, where did you get your clothes before all this? Like, in Sunnydale?"

He shrugged. "I had connections." He didn't feel the need to mention that some of those "connections" were shopkeepers who happened to know his "little secret" and were too terrified of him to refuse him his basic amenities.

She smirked. "Connections like, say, Xander Harris?"

He stood up. "Okay, look. That was once. _Once_. And I was-" He blinked. "Wait. How did you know about that, anyway?"

She snorted. "Xander and I had a date that night. He showed up right after meeting you, and he was, like, laughing hysterically for the whole night, and I kept bugging him to tell me what was so funny, and eventually he broke down and told me you'd borrowed a shirt from him. Like, a good ol' typical _Xander_-shirt…" She collapsed into a fit of giggles. "Wow, Angel. I would've _paid _to see that!"

"Look, I had no other options, okay?" he growled, agitated.

"If you say so," she giggled.

"I oughta kill the little bastard," he muttered under his breath.

"What?"

"Nothing. Nevermind." Humiliated, he picked up the papers before him once more, determinedly shuffling through them.

Cordelia continued to stand before him, leaning on the desk. Eventually, she looked up, her expression thoughtful. "Where do you actually _get _your clothes anyway? I mean, you can't exactly take a midnight stroll through the Big and Tall section, can you?"

He shrugged, his eyes not leaving the paper he was holding. "Mostly I order 'em online."

"Online?" she asked, surprised. "But…wait, don't you need a credit card to order stuff online?"

"Yup."

"Don't you kind of need a _last name_ to own a credit card?"

"Yup."

"But….you don't exactly _have_ a last name, do you?" She gave him an odd expression. "Or _do _you? Come to think of it, I've never really asked, have I?"

"Well I don't, but according to Mastercard, it's 'Jones'."

She rolled her eyes. "Jones? Really? C'mon, Angel. You could've done better than that. Interesting, though. So _that_'s where your endless supply of trench coats and black shirts comes from."

Angel glanced down at his shirt. "Apparently, not so endless."

Cordelia heaved a dramatic sigh. "I guess not. I mean, look at this. This is…er, I mean, _was_, a beautiful shirt, Angel! And expensive, too, by the looks of it. Now, why'd you have to go and get yourself impaled? Honestly, you should be more careful, wearing stuff like this."

"Well thank you, Cordelia," Angel said dryly. "I'm touched by your concern. And if I remember correctly, I got _impaled_ while trying to push _you _out of the way."

"For which I'm very grateful, don't get me wrong," she replied, "but honestly, would it kill you to not ruin your outfit every time we get a good case? I mean, Buffy went around kicking ass all the time, but she managed to keep her spectacularly tacky wardrobe intact."

Angel winced a bit at the mention of Buffy, but he said nothing. Cordelia continued. "My point is, this agency can't afford those types of casualties anymore, so for God's sake, be more careful!"

He smiled wryly. "Okay. I'll try. Y'know, for the sake of the agency."

*******


End file.
